Gifts of Joy
by c1araoswa1d
Summary: After the events of Last Christmas, the Doctor and Clara both question why it all happened at all...


Her dark eyes were focused on the spinning of the time rotor above them as they drifted through space and time, taking a moment to allow the events of the past few hours to register. Stuck in a dream. Stuck in a dream within a dream. Threatened with death and saved by Santa Claus. An adventure of realization, the Doctor understood, and he questioned how much of it had actually been real, or at least how much of the threat had been.

"I can see you're thinking on it too much," Clara told him with certainty, a smirk now evident on her face, eyes still staring up at the cogs that turned. Her voice seemed all too loud in the quiet space, but he welcomed it because he'd come to hate the silence and the absence it held. Absence of the very voice that continued, "How could Santa Claus be real if he's only a story? A list of silly songs to sing during the holidays."

She looked to him then in amusement, body slightly swaying, as though her last day in the Tardis had been the day before, and not several months back. The Doctor tilted his head and raised an eyebrow, fingertips toggling the switches before him. "Many things are thought to be only stories, or silly songs," he began, glancing at up at her before finishing, "But all of them are rooted in some sort of truth."

"So you've said before," she offered politely.

He grinned. "Santa Claus. St. Nicholas. Kris Kringle," he waved a hand briefly, "Perhaps they're like me, regenerations of the same mad man with a sleigh who can travel through the space time continuum with ease."

Clara pulled a lever he nodded to as she pointed out, "Except instead of saving villages and stopping enemies, he hands out presents and brings joy."

The Doctor scoffed, "I bring plenty of joy."

"Don't be jealous," Clara teased as he pushed his lips together in feigned annoyance. She sighed and looked to the colors changing on a bit of panel at her left, curiously asking, "It was real though, right? All of it," she raised her eyes to him, "It was real."

He took a breath and inched closer to her, finger punching a button, thumb turning a dial, "It's as real as we allow it to be, and the lessons we learned just as important, even if it weren't."

"Lessons," she repeated softly.

"No more lies," he offered.

Clara giggled and stated bluntly, "You and I, we're liars, Doctor – it's practically a necessity of what we do."

The Doctor took another step closer to her and he looked down over the smile that was slowly easing out of her features, understanding exactly what he meant before he clarified gently, "We don't lie to one another, Clara, no matter how much the truth hurts."

"And what is the truth?" She prompted, voice low, almost _afraid_ , he noticed.

For a moment he looked her over, watching the red that trickled up her neck and pinched at her cheeks, and then he turned away abruptly and stopped the Tardis mid-flight, looking up at the destination on his screen. He was going to take her some place warm. Some place nice. A dinner by a fire with a set of suns slowly making their way under a horizon just outside of a window at their side. He wondered what she'd make of it; he wondered if she would see the peace in his eyes as he watched her turn back to him from that view.

He wondered if she would understand.

He wondered if even he did.

"The truth," he said.

"The truth," Clara stated bluntly. Almost a demand, he thought as he turned to look at her. "Why were we given a second chance when others aren't afforded the opportunity?"

He laughed, body dropping slightly with an odd warmth, looking at the woman before him. The woman he'd walked away from months before on a quiet sidewalk outside of a quaint little cafe, assured that she had a life worth remaining Earth bound for in spite of his hearts' demand that she remain by his side. The woman he mourned the loss of, even though he knew very well she was still living outside of his Tardis doors. Why had they been given a second chance?

Why had _he_?

"I don't know," the Doctor told her honestly. "Perhaps there's still some thing out there in the universe for us to accomplish together; perhaps the lies we told were so great they had to be rectified. Perhaps," he began again, shrugging as he raised his head, eyes shifting to the ceiling of the console room before dropping back to her to smile and say, "Perhaps Santa hands out presents and brings joy."

Clara offered a curious look in return, similar to the one she'd given him when he'd held out his hand to her not long ago, beckoning her to join him again in his Tardis. He sighed and reconsidered: _their_ Tardis. She leaned into the console at her side, fingertips picking nervously at a button and he shifted to do the same, and they shared a smile and an awkward blush, neither wanting to be the first to speak, but both seeking out the courage to.

The Doctor bent forward, bravely telling her, "I believe, Clara Oswald, you are my gift from Santa Claus."

She bowed her head and he heard her chuckle before she spoke quietly, "And here I thought maybe you were mine."

"So you missed me," he teased, grinning as she laughed and admitting, "I missed you."

"Nah," she breathed. "You missed me saving your arse." Clara twisted her fingers together, jokingly asking, "What sorts of trouble did you get into while I was gone, anyways?"

The Doctor turned into the console, hands gripping it as he closed his eyes and exhaled. He dropped his head between his shoulders and tried to think of what he would tell her. Trouble? What trouble was there to be had? He'd merely floated amongst the stars, waiting for the empty feeling that hollowed his chest to fill back in with some spark of anything that might inspire him to open those doors again for more than nourishment and fresh air.

"Doctor?" She called, and he could hear the worry in her voice.

Oh, _how he'd missed her_.

"Was it terrible trouble, Doctor?" Clara asked quietly. And he knew she was readying herself to console him. To explain to him he'd done nothing too wrong and that anything could be mended. Because isn't that what she always did? The teacher to his wayward student, she would remind him of his lessons. With _time_ , he smiled, and _patience_ , he understood, lifting his eyes to meet hers, all wrongs could be righted in some way.

"There was trouble, Clara, but it's in the past." He straightened and raised his hands to stop her questions, reaching to touch her shoulders. To slip his palms over them and feel the warmth of her there. Not a hologram or an imagined thing, but the solid shoulders on which sat too much hope and on which would sit too many burdens through her time with him.

His fingertips crawled onto her back and then he pulled her forward into him, feeling her arms snake around his thin body, securing herself to him in a desperate way he wouldn't soon forget. And he laughed as she asked through a tearful voice, "You're a hugger now?"

"Well, you're from Santa and I wouldn't want to seem ungrateful," he told her plainly.

The Doctor felt her nod against his chest, knew she was listening to his heartbeats thud away peacefully there as she remained calm within his embrace, enjoying the opportunity she'd been so often denied during their time together so far. He closed his eyes and leaned his cheek into the top of her head and released a sigh. He relished the feel of her, flush against him, but hated what that meant. Maybe that's why he'd avoided it before.

Clara was too important to him, too ingrained into the patterns of those heart beats she was hearing to imagine living normally without her there. And he knew how dangerous that was. He took a long breath with her and whispered, "How long should a hug last?"

Her grip tightened and he chuckled softly, nodding as she replied, "As long as we want, Doctor."


End file.
